He picks up five or so to take with him - he can flick through them while the coffee filters - and turns for the door. Only now she's standing there's not a lot of room and he gets to see, closer than he'd expected, how she looks kind of tired. Or worried, or something. Around the eyes.

It occurs to him it's not an uncommon look on her. She looks that way more often than not.

'Breathe in, Bols. Wouldn' want to be squashin' you up against the shelves.'

Apart from the way he would, of course.